October 25, 2025

Return to the Scene of the Crime

Ostrava, October 25, 2025. Exactly a year and a day after I hit absolute rock bottom physically and mentally right here, crossing the imaginary finish line for the first time. Back then, it was the birth of an idea to achieve something massive, something that would push my mental boundaries. It was a fight for self-worth, an attempt to show the world—and mostly myself—that I could handle something. This year, I returned to the same spot. The plan was originally clear: beat last year's performance and aim for a time of three and a half hours. But between October 2024 and October 2025, too much happened. The extremes to which I pushed my body took their toll. My lifestyle broke me. And not just metaphorically. My body, or rather an unfortunate accident, gave me a clear stop sign. So, I stood on the starting line as a different person. No longer the guy running away from his own emptiness and seeking validation through pain.

Euphoria at the Start, but Different Inside

The atmosphere before the start was electrifying, but definitely not tense. I knew right at the start how it would end. Just like last year, I stepped up to the front, into the first rows. I was standing on the starting line shoulder to shoulder with the fastest runners again. My heart rate didn't spike at all this time; it was at its resting pace, so I perceived those pre-race moments entirely differently. From the outside, it looked the same. But I knew I wasn't running with them today. Last year, various scenarios and uncertainties were swirling in my head. Today, a deep, strange peace ruled inside me. I knew I wouldn't reach the finish line 42 kilometers away. And most importantly—I knew it was okay. This is my life script, and I'm no longer the one writing it; my body is.

One Single Lap

The starting gun fired. The mass of bodies started moving. I set off with them. While last year euphoria drove me forward at an unsustainable pace, this time I felt every single step, every breath. I didn't push it. The drive to push had faded long ago. I enjoyed the feeling of movement, the fleeting moment of belonging with the crowd. However, I ran just one single lap around the stadium. While the others continued out the gates toward dozens of kilometers of pain and self-denial, I stopped. I stepped off the track. To some, it might look like quitting. For me, it was the greatest display of strength. To stop carrying useless burdens that only buckle my knees.

On the Other Side of the Finish Line

My race may have ended after one lap, but I didn't go home. I decided to stay right in the center of the action and stood at the finish line as a volunteer. I handed out medals. Standing there, watching the faces of the people crossing the finish line, was an indescribable experience. With every single medal I hung around someone's neck, I felt genuine empathy for the runners. I knew exactly what kind of extreme physical and mental massacre they had just been through. But this time, I didn't have to suffer myself to be part of something great. I could just be there for others and pay my respects to them.

A Definitive Goodbye

This moment was my final farewell to the marathon and this entire self-destructive pattern. Running 42 kilometers in the past showed me I could do the impossible, even though my body wasn't, and as I know now, never will be ready for it. But I don't need to prove it to myself over and over until I completely destroy myself. Energy expenditure has long exceeded any intake—not the caloric kind, but the intake of vital core values.

Last year, I wrote that the real victory isn't the time on the stopwatch, but what I take away from the journey. Today I know the biggest victory is the ability to say "enough." To realize my worth doesn't lie in how extremely I can suffer, nor in how much pain I can endure. I no longer have the desire to run marathons. I've lost the need to punish my body because I didn't get what I subconsciously searched for and longed for in life. Instead, I want to focus on what truly matters—real life. Physical presence, authentic experiences, accepting myself unconditionally without the constant need to prove something to the world. And this is now the hardest marathon I have to run every single day. This was my one symbolic lap. My applause for past achievements, and at the same time, a step into something entirely new that I had been avoiding for a long time. Official Race Results Official Event Website Czech TV Report